


Getting Along

by zalil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Secret Snarry Swap 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalil/pseuds/zalil
Summary: Harry keeps being polite to Severus at every social event they happen to meet at. Severus decides this annoys him, and plans to prank him the next time they meet.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 55
Kudos: 432
Collections: Secret Snarry Swap19





	Getting Along

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to badgerlady for the beta!
> 
> Prompt No. 10 from kent_alex: Harry keeps being polite to Severus at every social event they happen to meet at. Severus decides this annoys him, and plans to prank him the next time they meet.

After their tea and a little detour to see the renovations of the dungeons, Severus and Minerva climbed the rebuilt staircases and walked past the recently reassembled armours and restored paintings, the inhabitants of which were still staggering around woozily from all the Reparos cast at them. The school was silent and devoid of students, a state Severus had always liked best. 

As they walked to the front doors of the castle, Severus was reminded of the last year he had spent here. Right at this corner, he had had to step in and give the Weasley girl detention to prevent the Carrow siblings from giving out a more distasteful one. In the classroom over there, he had deliberated how to make Alecto take a screaming first year down from the wall she had fastened him to with chains that cut into the skin of his little arms – all without revealing himself as Dumbledore's man, of course. On a corridor on the west side, two levels up, he had stepped over what remained of William Weasley's face on his way to kill the headmaster. In the Great Hall, he remembered Minerva's expression, twisted in hatred and scorn as they had duelled. 

Hogwarts had been his home for a long time, but not because he had chosen it. The Dark Lord and Albus had made it necessary for him to be here and as soon as both had been dead, Severus had been all too glad to leave the castle behind. 

Even though they were early, a small crowd had already gathered in front of the castle and inspected the changes and improvements that had been made. Two years and three months after the battle of Hogwarts, the castle stood proud and more magnificent than before. All renovations had been finished and all magic reintegrated. The wards had been reerected and strengthened beyond their former state, Severus could feel them tickle along his skin when he focussed his magic. 

The setting sun illuminated the people standing around in little groups, chatting. Between the Order members and Ministry dignitaries Severus quickly made out the few sponsors it would actually pay to meet. One of them might be susceptible for an investment in his business. 

Letting his eyes wander further, he spotted Harry Potter, standing alone a little way off, next to one of the marble pillars that honoured the students and teachers fallen in the war. Surprisingly, he was neither accompanied by the Weasley girl, nor by the usual duo. Without his friends, Potter looked a little lost. 

It had been a few months since he had last seen the boy. Though not quite as scrawny as when he had been on the run (at that time, Severus had been tempted to hide a Mars bar or two along with the sword of Gryffindor), and with broader shoulders than Severus remembered, the boy still looked underfed. Taking care of himself had never been one of Potter's strengths and still didn't seem to be on his agenda. 

Not that Severus had any information on Potter's life after the Dark Lord's demise. Potter had tried to make contact with Severus once, but had been so easily deterred by a few returns of the letters he had sent that Severus knew his heart hadn't been in it in the first place. He supposed the press coverage had Potter's head swollen to the point where he expected people to feel honoured to receive an owl by the saviour of the Wizarding world. Well, Severus liked to make a refreshing change to that.

Too late, Severus realized that, lost in his thoughts, he had followed Minerva straight towards Potter, who had noticed them and was straightening up and smoothing down his surprisingly decent robes. Black and green suited his complexion far better than the Gryffindor-coloured atrocities he had worn as a student.

"Harry, my dear boy," Minerva greeted him warmly, grasped his hand and held it. "It's good to have you back here."

"Thank you, Professor," Potter replied politely and smiled. "It's good to be back."

An awkward silence fell as his gaze turned to Severus. Minerva, the traitor, excused herself with a twinkle worthy of the late headmaster himself and turned away to greet the other guests. Intent on discouraging any conversation, Severus nodded curtly at Potter and tried to move on, but Potter held out his hand. Sullenly, Severus shook it. He couldn't very well decline a handshake with the saviour if people he wanted to do business with were watching. On the contrary, he would probably benefit more from being seen exchanging a few words with Potter. He shook his hand just long enough to be polite, then drew his own back again. 

"Professor Snape," Potter greeted him. His words held so much purpose and meaning that Severus felt an urge to immediately squash all the irrational beliefs Potter seemed to have about their post-war relationship.

"Potter," he inclined his head. "Hoping to be on the front page of a newspaper again? I daresay it has been a pleasantly long time since your face ruined my appetite for breakfast."

Delivered in a perfectly cordial tone, the words took a few seconds to sink in. Potter's face fell. For a moment he seemed confused and unsure, then he schooled his features back into a look of confidence.

"Did you miss me? I didn't expect you to notice I was abroad."

The cheeky sod smiled at him. Severus sneered. How dare the boy be unmoved by his insults? He had to add a few ounces of sarcasm, it seemed.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say, so don't hesitate to leave the country again," Severus replied spitefully.

Potter kept on grinning. It seemed Severus was losing his touch. 

"The USA was great, I'll be sure to visit again. How are you?" Potter asked with feigned interest, "Minerva mentioned you're running a Potions business?"

"Yes, and it's none of yours, Potter."

He longed to terminate the conversation and find someone worthwhile to talk to, and yet, inexplicably, he didn't simply walk away. For a very long time, his life had revolved around Harry bloody Potter. Now for all of the animosity that had always between them, Potter was comfortably familiar – except for his newfound even temper, that was.

Little tendrils of disappointment formed at the front of Potter's mind (gaping open, as usual, without a hint of a shield) and dissipated again. Still, he seemed resolved to make small talk. 

"Oh - okay. Do you think the weather will hold out today?" he tried again, apparently thinking the topic was safe. 

Severus rolled his eyes. "Do you think anybody here cares about a few drops of water? Even as mediocre a wizard as yourself could manage a decent rain-repelling charm after six years of schooling, I'd hope."

As the words rolled off his lips, he wondered whether he had overdone it with his display of animosity – Potter was an annoying, self-centred little rule-breaker, but hardly mediocre and he knew it. He _had_ killed the Dark Lord, after all. 

Severus had to admit, the brat had his respect – not only for fighting as well as he had, but for having the courage to walk up to the Dark Lord and let himself be killed. There weren't many wizards of that kind of mettle.

Potter's lips thinned. 

"You-" he started, then stopped and took a deep breath. When he looked back at Severus, he was calm and collected again.

"You're right, Sir, it doesn't matter," he said in a firm voice. Just then, the Weasley family arrived in a bustle. Potter seemed to have accepted defeat in the conversation and joined them. 

When everybody had settled, Minerva formally welcomed all the guests. Severus quickly tuned her out and used the time to think about the changes he was intending to make to his new Draught of Peace. Unicorn hair instead of horn should make it less addictive, which meant he could sell more of it without Healer's restrictions. Of course, he'd have to adjust the quantity of hellebore, but with a few tests, he'd quickly find out the ratio. Oh, the possibilities he had, now that his days weren't wasted on students and the restocking of Poppy's cupboard!

The sound of people clapping roused Severus from his thoughts. Minerva had finished her speech and one of the Ministry people was walking to the front. Time to drift off again. Severus hardly expected anything exciting to be said besides confessions about how glad they were to be able to send away their children for the best part of a year again.

After the speeches, people mingled and chatted, spirits heightened and tongues loosened by a few trays of drinks and canapés the elves served. Paper lanterns were levitated when the sun had disappeared behind the Quidditch pitch. Severus managed to introduce himself to Hartnell, an elderly no-nonsense wizard in a sensible grey robe who had come to see whether his gold had been invested wisely in the castle, and had left a business card with him. As a pureblood wizard, he seemed to have no idea what it was good for, but put it in his pocket, which was enough for Severus, at the moment. 

Potter kept his distance for the rest of the evening, sticking with Molly, Arthur and George Weasley. Although he still seemed a little wary, he raised a hand in greeting to Severus on his round saying goodbye before he left. Severus studiously ignored him. 

He left a short while after that, walking to the gates and Apparating from outside the wards. He was a little disappointed by his short conversation with the saviour. Provoking Potter was only half the fun if he didn't rise to the bait. Severus had no idea what had caused this change of character, but he knew he didn't like it. Potter's behaviour was unsettling, at the very least. Did Potter want something from him? Or was he desperately trying not to let on how annoyed he was so that Severus would stop needling him? Whatever it was, Severus was going to find out —if he ever saw Potter again, that was. 

*

Arriving home at Grimmauld Place, Harry hung his robes on the coat rack and kicked off his boots with a little more force than was necessary. 

Alright, so Hermione had been right. Snape was just as much of a bastard as he had been before. She had told Harry so after she had taken part in the trials, but he hadn't believed it. After all, Snape had saved them all, hadn't he? For decades, he had been playing a very dangerous role, double and triple crossing Voldemort and his followers. Hell, he had nearly died for the victory of the good side. 

After sharing his memories, discovering his role in the war and his infatuation with Harry's mum, Harry had been sure his sour, hostile demeanour had been an act. Of course Snape couldn't have been openly nice to the Boy Who Lived when he had been playing a devoted Death Eater. Death Eaters' children had gone to school with Harry – Draco would have snitched on him in an instant. He had had to keep his loyalties and affections hidden.

But now, Harry realised: he had been as convincing because it hadn't been an act. Snape really didn't like him and wasn't afraid to show it. Even after the war had ended, he was still a prickly bastard. Harry's owl had probably taken his letters to the right address, Snape just hadn't accepted them. 

Also, Snape seemed to wait for Harry to fall back into his former role and lower himself to the same level of antagonism, but he was long past that. Harry, in contrast to Snape, had grown up and didn't need petty fights. He was going to stay polite and friendly towards the grumpy sod, no matter how much he would be provoked. Even Snape's defences had to wear down someday and he might become just too exhausted to continue fighting with Harry.

If he thought about it, there had been some improvement already. Snape had called him a mediocre wizard instead of an abysmal one. And he had noticed Harry wasn't talking back, of that he was sure, even though he didn't know whether Snape cared or what he made of it. 

Harry took his phone and scrolled down, skipping Ginny's name. He was supposed to move on and give her space. Hermione and Ron wouldn't appreciate him disturbing their honeymoon. Harry wasn't that close to Seamus and Dean any more and while Neville had grown into a hero while Harry, Ron and Hermione had been on the run, he still definitely didn't want to hear about Snape – also he had never really gotten the hang of using mobile phones.

"Guess who I met today," Harry finally texted Claire, a new friend he had made when he had interned at the MACUSA. She was also taking part in the international exchange program and had come back to Britain with Harry. Claire at least wouldn't accuse him of feeding his unhealthy obsession with the Half-blood Prince, since she didn't know anything of his sixth year at Hogwarts. 

Staring into his freezer, he took out a pizza, turned on the oven and settled on his couch. His suitcase was still standing next to it, packed as on the day of his return a week ago, even though he knew a handy spell to return his things to their proper places, courtesy of Molly Weasley. He just hadn't had the energy.

All of Grimmauld Place was due for a few tidying and cleaning spells, he noticed, pulling out an old sock and a chocolate wrapper from between the cushions and letting both fall to the floor. 

After the break up with Ginny, he might have let himself go a little. Agreeing to Kingsley's suggestion of an internship abroad (it had been more of an order, really) had felt like a welcome escape. He had wanted to get away and get his mind off things for some time. But the MACUSA had done more than keep him busy. New York was loud and flashy and different and so were the people who lived there. He had made quite a few new acquaintances and been overwhelmed by the cultural differences to Great Britain. Also, the revelation had come to him that his personality didn't predispose him towards working in an environment with as many regulations and rules as a government. Hermione would fall off her chair, laughing, when he told her this "news", but it had taken some time for him to see that. 

Now that he had resigned from his apprenticeship in the Ministry, he just had to find out what else he was made for. The world was awfully short of evil wizard overlords to kill at the moment. 

Harry's mobile beeped. 

"Off work in a few, wanna hear all about it," Claire had written. 

If they were being honest with themselves, Claire wasn't really cut out for rules and regulations either, but the MACUSA seemed to be a bit more liberal about things like that than the British Ministry of Magic. Had Harry ever run off alone for a week with only a rumour of a rogue vampire, a wand and no back up, Kingsley would have had his head. In America, that kind of behaviour only got you a few dark looks and a good week of desk duty. And even that, Harry thought to himself, was probably only due the fact that while Claire had managed to arrest the vampire, she had neglected to bring all his limbs. 

Harry wondered whether he was supposed to use a cleaning charm or two right now, in case Claire dropped by – she was the kind of girl who didn't wait to be invited to come over. But Claire didn't mind a bit of a mess, he had seen that in her own apartment in New York. She would be able to deal with a few wrappers and socks lying around.

Harry looked forward to a bit of venting. That he was trying to stay polite towards Snape didn't mean he couldn't complain about him.

*

When Severus brewed, he was fully in his element. He chopped, diced, squeezed, sliced, pressed, stirred, added a few drops of this, a few ounces of that. He worked as if in a trance, instinctively adding ingredients as their properties dictated. At times, he had ten cauldrons simmering simultaneously, turning between them like a madman operating a complex machine, the number of cauldrons only limited by danger of ingredients mixing in the fumes rising up from them. 

With the money he had acquired from Hartnell, he had already managed to improve two of his own recipes for mental health potions and was well on his way to invent a new one treating curse scars. St. Mungo's was a generous client and Severus intended to cater to the needs of the big buyers in the region to establish his business and become independent from investors.

Now if only the ingredients restocked themselves… Severus was due for another trip to Diagon Alley. Owl order was fine for other things, but he needed to see, feel and smell the ingredients he used for his potions, even more so for his experiments. Also, he needed to eat something once in a while and Madame V's curries were the best and just around the corner from the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

He set the potion currently brewing into stasis, grabbed his cloak and a fistful of Floo powder and set off for Diagon Alley. He was walking briskly towards Gringotts, when a tousled dark head and a familiar voice to his left caught his attention. 

"- best ice cream you're going to get on this side of the ocean."

Of course it was Potter, and with a new girlfriend, by the look of it. She was a bit unusual, Severus found, clad in very liberal Muggle clothing (that was to say, flaunting her cleavage like a whore) and wearing smudged make up. Her black hair was falling down in long curls on one side of her head and cut shorter than an inch on the other.

Severus was torn between curiosity and the wish to get his shopping done. Had Potter's patience worn out by now? Or would he give away what he intended to gain through his fake civility? Since Severus was approaching them fast, he had to make a quick decision. Curiosity won and Severus walked right into Potter's range of vision without sparing him a glance. 

Predictably, a voice called out.

"Professor Snape!"

Slowly, Severus turned towards them, schooling his features into a look of boredom and mild annoyance – a face he had perfected in his classroom.

Dragging his girlfriend along with him and smiling far too cheerfully for Severus' taste, Potter approached him.

"It's good to see you, Professor."

His hand hovered strangely in the air for a moment. He seemed unsure whether to extend it to Severus or spare himself certain rejection. 

Severus wondered what he could irritate Potter most with. Verbal abuse he was used to from Severus and while it was nice in terms of mental hygiene, it hadn't yielded the results he had hoped for, lately. A new strategy was in order.

Severus grasped Potter's hand before he could pull it back and crushed his fingers in a firm grip, revelling in the wince Potter gave.

"Mr. Potter, it seems like only yesterday that we last met," he said, shaking Potter's hand. "No luck with the papers?"

"That was four weeks ago," Potter replied between clenched teeth, trying to take his hand back without showing his discomfort. He ignored Severus' jibe at his notoriety in the press.

Severus smirked and let go of him. His gaze turned to the girl standing next to Potter with a somewhat belligerent expression. Slowly, an idea of how to irritate Potter next formed in Severus' mind. 

"And who is the charming young lady you're not introducing to me?" he asked, letting his voice drop to a purr, his gaze never leaving the girl. 

Potter choked on his spit. Ha! Severus held back a smile he knew would look more like a threat than an expression of joy. 

"Er, Professor, this is Claire Marsh, a friend from the US. She's interning at the Ministry. Claire, this is my Potions teacher – well, former Potions teacher – and war hero, Professor Severus Snape."

By the end of the sentence, Potter seemed to have regained his composure a little bit. Claire watched Severus under lowered lashes, an interested but challenging look. Severus held out his hand and, when Claire took it, turned it around and dipped his head down for an almost kiss. From the corner of his eye, he saw Potter's jaw drop. Perfect.

"Delighted, Miss Marsh," he purred, keeping her hand in his. 

"War hero, huh?" Claire said, giving Severus an appraising look. 

He inclined his head. "It was nothing, I only did what anybody would have done in my place."

Claire smiled at him, all teeth, obviously not buying his false modesty. A light brush over her mind showed it was closed off tighter than Azkaban. Impressive. It was to be hoped that she was not taking advantage of the fact that the trusting imbecile next to her didn't occlude at all, ever.

"Harry has told me about you," she commented, the tone of her voice leaving open what it was Potter had told her.

"Only good things, I hope," Severus countered and let go of her hand. She took it back, ran it through her hair and inclined her head a little, answering only with her Sphinx-like smile.

What had the little brat told her? Severus didn't care, one way or another. It was enough that Potter was standing next to them, flushed and speechless while Severus was flirting with his girlfriend. Surprise looked good on him, Severus found. If it hadn't been Potter, he might have appreciated the colour of his glowing cheeks, contrasting nicely with the dark mop of hair.

"So, Miss Marsh, how do you like the British take on...law enforcement?"

Her stance and the way she behaved indicated that she was no stranger to close-combat encounters. Cheeky and daring – typical Auror behaviour. Severus guessed she must be interning with the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and from her nonchalant but affirming reaction, he took his guess to be true.

"Nice, if a little boring. You British people are all so stiff upper lip, all those formalities, even when chasing criminals… We like to get down and dirty in the US," she said with a cheeky grin that threw up quite a few questions about her interpretation of down and dirty in law enforcement.

"But, as a spy, you know what I mean, don't you?" she added.

Severus smirked back. Claire was playing right into his hands. Potter's head shot to the side as he stared at her for a change. 

"Er… Claire?"

It had been too much to hope that Potter would remain speechless for a while longer. Still, for a jealous boyfriend he was very silent. Severus ignored him.

"Since you're being shown around, have you visited Gringotts?" Severus asked. Claire gave the impression she could appreciate a bit of violence and destruction. "Mr. Potter once destroyed the whole of the antique ceiling."

"That was an accident," Potter mumbled, giving Severus a dark look. 

Severus smirked. "On a dragon."

"On a what, now?" Claire turned to Potter, delighted. "You never said! You have to show me!"

Potter mumbled something about going there right now and how time was flying, so they said goodbye. Severus made a point of kissing Claire's hand again and she seemed to approve, to Severus' surprise. In the whole conversation, she hadn't seemed too taken with Potter.

All in all, Severus was satisfied with himself. Potter had come across as thoroughly unsettled at last. He had never been so quiet in Severus' presence before.

*

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked, still incredulous, after they had found a table at the modern coffee shop next to Ollivander's and ordered. 

Black boots pressed against the foot of the table, Claire was rocking her chair back and forth on its hind legs and chewing gum.

"What? I don't know what you've got against this guy. He seems pretty okay to me," she said, winking. 

Harry was stumped. He had imagined Snape in a lot of situations in his life, as a teacher, as a spy, as a friend of his mother – but he had never thought of him as a sexual being. Yet, undeniably, he had been flirting with Claire, and even worse, she had flirted back.

"But -" he was at a loss of words. "Have you _seen_ him? He – he doesn't even wash his hair!"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Harry wanted to take them back. He knew he sounded petty and truth be told, he hadn't paid attention to Snape's hair or outfit at all. But, Snape, really?

"Huh," Claire commented, glancing at Harry's own head. Since he had had to hurry in the morning, he was wearing what Hermione called his hairstyle à la bird's nest. He quickly tried to smooth down the worst of it.

"His voice is kinda hot, it makes even your freaky accent sound good."

Harry paid no mind to her good-natured teasing. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts. It surprised him that he never thought about Snape that way. Yeah, he had known about his mum's friendship with Snape and that he had loved her, but it had been an innocent, deep friendship kind of love, hadn't it? God, Harry deeply hoped so. He knew what teenage boys were like and he didn't want to imagine anybody lusting after his mum, least of all his greasy Potions teacher. 

"But… he's old!" Harry finally blurted out. 

"Experienced," Claire countered.

Was he? Harry didn't know of any love interests of Snape. He wasn't married, to Harry's knowledge, but his knowledge about Snape's private life was very limited. But even if he wasn't, Snape was around forty – there had to have been other women. 

He wondered what Snape would be like in courtship. Up to now, he had never seen Snape trying to impress a woman. Would he always be flirty, as with Claire? Or had that been for Harry's sake again, to unsettle him? Did women find Snape attractive at all? Claire did, as far as Harry could tell. They had gone on swimmingly and he didn't like that. He was the one Snape had a history with and he tried his best to be respectful, yet Snape ignored him completely in favour of Claire.

It was hard to say whether _he_ thought Snape was attractive. Harry didn't even know what Snape's neck looked like, let alone the rest of his body, buttoned up as he always was with his layers over layers. Wizard robes hid body shapes pretty well. On the other hand, Harry had seen Snape duel, knew there was speed and strength underneath the clothes. There was muscle work involved in brewing as well, so his best guess was that Snape was slim, but well toned. 

He knew that there was a Dark Mark on his left forearm and there was dark hair leading up from Snape's wrists to his arms that he had only exposed on the rare occasion he had been involved in some serious brewing during Potions class. Harry imagined his dark hair could be found on his chest as well, leading down to his stomach and – he deliberately stopped his train of thought. Why exactly was he thinking about Snape's naked skin again?

The returning waitress was a welcome distraction. She brought Harry's tea and the double coffee Claire always ordered even though she claimed it gave her heartburn because it was so strong compared to American coffee. 

In his haste Harry drank too fast and burned his tongue. At least that took his mind off Snape until Claire addressed the topic again.

"Didn't you ever fantasise about your teachers?" Claire asked with honest interest. "Our Transfigurations teacher was a hottie – just out of the Academy when he started teaching. He got about ten love letters each week, half of them Howlers – or rather, _Moaners_."

"No," Harry immediately denied, then thought about it. "Well, we had a centaur teach Astronomy, he was pretty popular with the girls. But there were no love letters to him, as far as I know. Oh and there was Lockhart, but he turned out to be a dead loss..."

Claire grinned into her coffee. "Well, I'd be surprised if nobody ever fell for tall, dark and mysterious."

It took Harry a moment to realise she was referring to Snape again. When he had made the connection, the memories of his preoccupation with the Half-blood prince surfaced and he made an effort not to dwell on it. Nope, he was not going there. And he was especially not telling Claire about it – she would never let him live down his fascination with the prince.

Changing topic, Harry enlisted Claire's help on his hunt for Hermione's birthday present. Since she had been on her honeymoon with Ron, Harry had been granted a reprieve, but they were back now and Harry still had no idea what to get her.

They made a quick detour to Gringotts, where Harry felt terribly uncomfortable, since the Goblins now permitted him to enter again, but always dispatched one of their clerks to stand and stare at him at all times. Harry quickly dragged an amazed Claire back out again as soon as she would let him and they left for Muggle London.

Claire pulled Harry into several shops she thought were fitting to buy presents for girls in. He had to assure her that no, his relationship to Hermione was not so close that he could buy that kind of toy for her, no, Hermione did not need big knives, and yes, soap and bubble baths were adventurous enough. After having his present professionally wrapped, they left the reeking shop and strolled back to the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron.

On the way back, Harry silently vowed to ask Hermione about schoolgirl crushes on Snape. Had there been anyone fantasising about detentions? Harry knew there were schools in which corporal punishment was not unusual. Even at Hogwarts, years before the Carrows had turned it into some kind of Death Eater playground, Filch had been talking about the 'old ways', about the use of manacles and beatings. 

Snape seemed like the kind of teacher who'd get off on that kind of power over his students, too, especially over Harry. While Harry was now sure he didn't want to actually harm anyone, he'd have revelled in the feeling of having Harry at his mercy, bent over his table, or better yet, over his lap, as he gave him a good seeing-to. He'd probably have made Harry take off his robes and trousers too, to just humiliate him further, and, if he had had a bad day, make Harry count out the blows. 

The thought was unsettling in that it wasn't as unappealing as Harry would have liked to pretend. 

*

"Yes, he's still a prat, but he has been making an effort to build a better name for himself since his parents have left for France," Hermione argued. "You don't have to go to, but at least decline his invitation in a way that won't make him suffer any disadvantages."

Harry sighed. Yeah, that was making him feel loads better about not going. It was so unfair. Malfoy and his parents had brought their bad image upon themselves years ago, when they had invited Voldemort into their home. And now Harry had to appear at Malfoy's party or it would 'look bad' since he hadn't bothered to invite him the old, polite way via owl, but via _Daily Prophet._ So the press was already informed and waiting to see whether the saviour had forgiven the antihero yet – which was exactly why Malfoy had orchestrated everything this way, he supposed.

"Why can Harry stay at home?" Ron asked around a mouthful of spaghetti. "I don't want to go, either!"

Hermione just kept looking at him until he relented. 

"Alright, alright, I'll come. Just for a short while, though, then we'll go to a pub."

"Deal," Hermione said. "Harry?"

Harry groaned. "We saved his life, _twice_ , isn't that enough?"

"Nope," Ron countered. "Come on, we swore we'd suffer together."

Harry turned the last of his pasta onto his fork. "Yeah, but that was when we went Horcrux-hunting, not to a pureblood party."

He made a show of shuddering. Hermione smiled benignly at their banter. She knew them well enough to see that they were already convinced to come. 

"There might be other Hogwarts students or teachers there, it could be nice to meet people we haven't seen in some time."

Well, Harry doubted that it would be nice, but he figured, if Hermione could return to Malfoy Manor after being tortured there, so could he.

Harry wondered whether Snape would be likely to come. He used to be close to Malfoy, or he wouldn't have taken an Unbreakable Vow for him. But Harry shouldn't get his hopes up. The Snape he had known at school had not exactly been sociable and it had been a wonder they had met twice in the last weeks. And why was it that he wanted to see Snape, again?

*

After several tries of flattening his hair, Harry noticed he ran late, gave up, threw on the coat of his dress robes over his shirt and jeans and Flooed to Hermione and Ron's. 

"I'm here," he called and seconds later Hermione appeared, beautiful in a shimmering dark blue dress that went over her knees, smelling faintly of perfume. She took one look at him, turned around and reappeared with some kind of hair product that she used liberally on his head. Harry presented his hair to a passing Ron. 

"What's different?" Ron asked, oblivious to the work Hermione had put in. She frowned and poked at Harry's hair again. 

"Never mind him, you look good," she said and put on her coat.

Together, they Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The way up to the house was illuminated by levitating torches that accompanied them to the front door. It was a strange feeling to come back. Even though Harry knew the war was over and there were no Snatchers waiting for them inside, he wasn't looking forward to entering the building. Looking to the side, his gaze met Ron's and he could tell Ron was thinking along the same lines. 

At the door, a house-elf in livery greeted them. Harry noticed how Hermione steeled herself for the verbal abuse she was used to from elves that belonged to pureblood houses, but none was forthcoming. Draco seemed to have instructed his servants well. Also, he seemed to have a knack for interior design. The entryway looked bright, airy and inviting and there were no strange objects or portraits of contemptuous relatives any more. Harry knew that, after the war, Draco had opened the doors of Malfoy Manor to the Ministry – all of them, even the hidden trap doors. The house search and raid in combination with the redecorations had diminished the museum-of-horror vibe of the manor a lot.

Another house-elf meandered towards them through the crowd with a tray of what looked like champagne. They took a glass each and had barely time to look at the changes Draco had made before he was standing in front of them with one of the Greengrass girls on his arm. 

"Harry Potter," he said pompously and loudly enough to make all the bystanders turn around to look at them. Harry very nearly rolled his eyes. Shaking first Harry's hand, then Ron's and finally Hermione's far too effusively, Malfoy announced to all and sundry how glad he was they had made it and how he longed to discuss his plans to invest the little money that was left of the Malfoy fortune in a good cause, with the help of Miss Granger-Weasley. Greengrass on his arm looked at him with big eyes, deeply in awe of her boyfriend. 

"Thanks for the invitation, Mal-Draco," Harry said ungracefully, changing course after a sharp elbow to his side from Hermione. A small flash went off and a reporter hurried away with his photograph. Harry was relieved – now that a picture of them speaking to Malfoy existed, they could go any time. 

But to Harry's surprise, Hermione was right and he did have fun. His concerns that bad memories might resurface were unsubstantiated.

They met a few former Ravenclaws, among them Luna, who had brought her own paintings to decorate the walls: extremely colourful abstract pieces of art that were hard to look at for a long time. She told them that Draco had removed the pieces of art that had been on the walls before, selling the valuable ones to raise money for charity and putting his horrible relatives into storage. From what Harry heard, Malfoy was trying so hard to repair the family name, it was embarrassing.

While Harry was chatting some more with Luna about her painting process, Hermione and Ron went to 'explore the library.' Harry hoped Ron didn't think Hermione wanted to go snogging, knowing her, she probably did want a look at the books. On their way outside, they passed Snape, who was standing at the other end of the room, deep in conversation with Blaise Zabini.

When Harry saw Snape, he remembered their last encounter and the conversation he had had with Claire afterwards. Now that Snape wasn't staring at him, he had time to look and found that he had been unfair. Snape didn't look greasy at all. And did he wear nicer robes? They were a little less buttoned up than usual and Harry was curious to see whether he'd get a glimpse of the scar Nagini had left.

And there he was, thinking about Snape's skin under his robes again. Quickly, Harry turned away not to get caught staring at Snape. He felt his cheeks heating up. In his mind, thoughts about schoolgirl crushes and detention resurfaced. And in a moment of horrible clarity, he realised said Potions teacher could read minds and even until today, Harry had not managed to Occlude his mind to him on one single occasion.

So, as soon as he spoke to Snape – and it would look strange to anyone who knew him if he didn't at least greet him – Snape had the perfect opportunity to sneak a peek into his mind and discover Harry's fantasies of lying across Snape's lap for a spanking. Welcome to Harry Potter's mind, where sex meets education. Fuck. 

_Clear your mind,_ Harry silently chanted to himself. _Get a grip and clear your mind. Never mind Voldemort,_ this _is a sticky situation._

He realised he had tuned Luna out and tried to pay attention to what she was saying.

"Daddy will try to find one of them on his journey. If he manages to take a photo, they might be added to the next edition of _Fantastic Beasts._ "

Oh. Apparently they had had a change of topic. Harry nodded. 

"That sounds great."

A serene smile stole over Luna's face.

"It was nice to see you again, Harry Potter," she said.

Harry was puzzled. "Are you leaving already?"

"No, but you want to talk to Professor Snape, don't you? The Wrackspurts buzzing around your head are all looking into his direction."

Harry gaped at her. Was it that obvious?

"It's okay," Luna reassured him, "he's got them, too."

When Snape raised his glass and turned towards a house-elf, putting Harry into his line of sight, Harry did what any sensible wizard would do and fled.

*

Severus watched Granger and Weasley leave the room, giggling among themselves. Except for greetings, Granger refrained from talking to him since the trials, which was all right with Severus. So what if he hadn't been all too courteous with the little know-it-all? He didn't owe Potter or his friends anything. He hadn't asked Granger to still the bleeding of his throat and really, after all _he_ had done to keep the brats safe, not to let him croak was the least they could have done.

"...so they sent Theo off to Switzerland after all and by the way, Sir, do tell me why Harry Potter is staring a hole into the back of your head?" Zabini, curious as ever, inquired.

"Is he?" Severus asked mildly, resisting the urge to turn around. Of course, where Granger and Weasley were, Potter wasn't far. Was he alone or had he brought his girlfriend? 

A passing elf carrying a tray was a perfect opportunity for Severus to set down his glass. The little turn necessary to reach the tray brought Potter into his line of vision. Apart from the Lovegood girl standing next to him, he seemed to be alone – and nervous, by the look of him.

"Aaand he's gone." 

Amused, Zabini took another sip of champagne. 

"Looks as if he's seen a banshee. So much for Gryffindor courage."

Oh, so all of a sudden Potter didn't want to talk to him any more, did he? That was terribly inconvenient, seeing as Severus was just starting to have fun with him. It was a shame Potter hadn't brought Claire, she was the perfect accessory for Severus' plan.

"I guess I should say hello to Potter some time this evening," Zabini sighed, doing his best to look disinterested, yet not letting go of the topic and waiting for Severus to spill. To no avail, Severus' relationship with Potter was none of his business and Severus remembered well that Zabini was the biggest gossip monger of all his Slytherins. 

"It's all the rage to bond with members of other houses, nowadays," he confided to Severus while shamelessly letting his eyes wander over Lovegood, who was still standing around looking a little lost but untroubled.

"And do the other houses want to _bond_ with the Slytherins?" Severus asked, eyebrow raised, interested despite himself. 

"I'll keep you updated, Sir," Zabini smiled, inclined his head and strolled towards Lovegood and her paintings.

Severus shook his head and started to look for Potter. Sans girlfriend, he would have to be irritated in another fashion, but Severus was confident he'd find a way. If nothing else helped, he'd just have to flirt with Potter himself – he was curious to see what the saviour would make of that.

Only, Potter was not to be entrapped. Whenever Severus caught sight of him, he was just on his way out of the room and as soon as Severus had extricated himself from the clutches of whoever wanted to speak to him – the friendly inquiries after his well-being were a novelty since he had gotten his Order of Merlin – Potter was gone.

Finally, Severus gave up and left through the back hall, walked past the dungeon stairs and out onto the terrace facing the rose gardens. The white roses reflected the moonlight beautifully and it was nice and quiet. Leaning against the wall, he drew a pack of cigarettes out of his robe and lit one with the tip of his wand. 

*

God damn that man. As if he had known Harry didn't want to talk to him for a change, he had suddenly appeared in every single room Harry had fled to. He had had to find excuses to leave again, only to find Snape had followed. Was it coincidence? Harry didn't think so. Snape had always known when he had been up to something. 

Relieved that Snape seemed to be two steps behind for once, Harry slipped from the room and hurried towards the doors leading outside. If he could only find Ron and Hermione, they could help him and distract either himself or Snape enough not to let those mental images surface. Where were they?

Figuring he'd look for them in the romantic places first, Harry left the building by the exit leading towards the gardens. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the relative dark. For some reason, there were no lights there, the beautiful illumination of the terrace didn't extend to this side of the manor. All was dark except for the faint light falling through the glass door from the manor and a little glowing circle of… a Muggle cigarette?

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said, turning to go back inside. Whoever was holding the cigarette had probably come out here for some peace and quiet.

"Stay," a deep, resonant voice sounded. That syllable was enough for Harry to recognise the speaker and root him to the spot. He had to bite his lip to stop the expletives occurring to him from falling from his mouth.

"Good evening, Mister Potter," Snape purred. "Tore yourself away from the adoring masses at last?"

It was typical of Snape to start the conversation with an insult. But now that Harry didn't see his face (contorted in a sneer, probably), he detected a note of irony in his voice. Did Snape actually have a sense of humour?

"Barely fought my way out, Sir," he answered in kind. "I escaped only 'cause they were so excited to see me, they all fainted."

A snort from the side. Sense of humour, check. Harry felt irrationally proud to have made Snape laugh. Maybe it wasn't so bad to meet Snape, here outside, where the darkness ensured no Legilimency was going to happen.

"How did you manage?"

There had been enough people who had wanted to talk to Snape, after all.

"I went outside before I got too excited," Snape answered, holding a second cigarette to his own, then, when it caught fire, offering it to Harry, a gesture so amicable that Harry didn't know what to do. He had never tried smoking before and didn't want to make a prat of himself, but he also liked this new ceasefire between Snape and him, so he took it.

Only when he had taken a drag of the cigarette did Snape's last comment register in his brain. He started to laugh, then coughed. Snape leaned over, took the cigarette back and stubbed it out without comment. Harry's face burned from the lack of oxygen and dignity.

"You could have brought your girlfriend, she seems apt to scare your fans away," Snape remarked. 

"Ginny and I have broken up ages ago," Harry said, but Snape waved his hand impatiently. 

"Not Weasley, the cheeky American."

"Claire? She's not my girlfriend," Harry corrected him. Had they seemed like a couple to Snape? He was probably just ribbing Harry again.

He looked to the side and found Snape watching him intensely, face illuminated by the light from the corridor. He took another deep drag from his cigarette and smirked. 

"Excellent. The adoring masses will be relieved to hear that the Boy Who Lived is still on the market."

"We wouldn't want to disappoint those," Harry agreed, wondering why they weren't fighting. Sure, he was trying to stay polite, but he always did, lately. Snape must be drunk. 

"Zabini tells me interhouse relationships are all the rage, nowadays, strength in unity and all that. Surely the Chosen One should set a good example?"

Harry hoped his face was in the shadows. Yes, he had been thinking about an interhouse relationship, but it was probably different from those Snape was thinking of. He hoped a non-committal grunt would satisfy Snape.

"You were never one to shy away from a challenge, Potter," he added, lowering his voice to a gravelly rasp. 

And suddenly it dawned on Harry what was different. Snape was different. And he wasn't drunk – he was flirting. With Harry. Who hadn't caught on up to now. 

Now the question was: why was he flirting with Harry when lately, he had gone out his way to make him uncomfortable? 

The only thing that made sense to Harry was that Snape's course hadn't changed. He was still trying to get on Harry's nerves, by all means necessary. So far, his plan of making Harry uncomfortable had worked, but for a wholly different reason than he thought.

"Depends on the challenge," he countered, trying not to blush. He might be uncomfortable, but he would not give Snape the satisfaction of scaring him away. Harry would call his bluff.

"A drink, perhaps?" Snape stubbed out his cigarette on the ground, flicked it away and vanished it in flight with a wave of his hand. 

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. Drinks meant light. Light meant eye contact, which led to… fantasies of student spankings. Mastering Occlumency in the next thirty seconds was a challenge all right.

"That's not much of a challenge," Harry answered bravely, turning to open the door. Snape caught his wrist. 

"A drink is not a challenge at all."

He was suddenly very close to Harry, smelling of smoke, cologne and a bit of potions fumes, but the last may have been just Harry's imagination. His hand felt hot on Harry's wrist and he was staring straight into Harry's eyes. The distance between them seemed to shrink and Harry found it increasingly difficult not to let his eyes flicker down to Snape's lips.

He had the distinct feeling they were playing a game only Snape knew the rules of. No, actually it was not a game. They were dancing and as usual when it came to dances, Harry didn't know the steps. Still, Snape was right: Harry wasn't shying away from a challenge.

* 

Severus let go of Potter's wrist, opened the door and walked, past the drawing room and ballroom, to the stairs leading up. Potter followed, hard on his heels. At the top of the stairs Severus turned left, into the smaller, cosier living room Lucius had used when he hadn't been entertaining guests. With a flick of his wand, Severus lit the fireplace facing the green velvet couch. He strode past the bookshelves towards the still life on the wall, tapped the grapes with his wand and closed his eyes in relief when the picture swung to the side to reveal Lucius' liquor stash.

Thank God Draco hadn't moved that. The sweet, bubbly French swill he was serving downstairs didn't even qualify as a drink, in Severus' book. He selected a bottle, then grabbed two glasses from the back of the case and filled them. 

Potter hovered at the door for a moment, then stepped in and closed it after him. Severus wondered how much flirting would be necessary to unsettle Potter. Severus had been exceedingly nice already and Potter had either not caught on or even enjoyed his attention. So far, so interesting. 

When Potter approached him to take one of the glasses, Severus purposely ignored him and went to sit and lean back on the couch. Only then did he hold out one of the glasses. Potter followed him, accepted the glass and the invitation to sit next to him. He seemed a little rattled at least. In the light of the room, Severus noticed how his cheeks were glowing and how he was sitting a little too straight to be relaxed.

"Cheers," Potter finally said, breaking the silence, and without sniffing whatever it was Severus had served him, threw it back, the trusting fool. At least he could handle his liquor and didn't start choking again. Severus raised his glass. 

"To your health." 

He took a sip of his own brandy.

"Your friends will miss you," Severus commented, wondering if he could get away with a non-verbal distraction spell at the door.

Potter shrugged. "They know I can handle myself, it's not wartime any more."

"You could handle yourself then, as well," Severus said, voice low, letting his eyes wander over Potter's figure and watching his blush deepen. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Now that was a come-on so blunt, even a Gryffindor could understand it, and by the look of him, Potter did. His eyes widened for a moment, then he caught himself.

"You tell me," Potter said in a steady voice, holding Severus' gaze, "How dangerous are you?"

Severus didn't look away. "Just as dangerous as I need to be." 

The tension in the room was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife. 

"More?" he asked, glancing down. Potter's brow furrowed. 

"More brandy?" Severus clarified, summoning the bottle to the couch. 

Potter scooted closer and extended his glass. If he wasn't interested, he was certainly doing a perfect impression of it. Severus took the glass and refilled it.

*

Harry wondered when he had missed the right moment to jump off the train to crazy town. He didn't know what this dance had developed into, didn't know what Snape was playing at, he just knew he was feeling a thrill he hadn't felt in a long time. Snape was familiar and safe as well as dangerous and a complete mystery to him, all at the same time. 

"You've always protected me," Harry said, "I feel pretty safe in your hands."

"Don't be silly, Potter. You've never been _in my hands,_ " Snape said, slowly letting the last few words roll off his tongue. His glittering eyes promised excitement. He offered Harry back his glass, but didn't let go of it when Harry took it. 

"And you'd be anything but safe."

Harry's whole perception focussed on Snape's fingers, brushing against his on the glass. They were long and elegant, and his smooth skin felt hot on Harry's. One of them had to call the other's bluff soon, if that was all this was. But Harry didn't think so any more. Even if it had started out as a game or a battle of wills, this tension could not be faked. 

Harry could feel the boundary that he was edging along and stretching his toes across. What was lying beyond was unknown and forbidden and that alone was tempting enough. In a bout of madness, Harry jumped head first over it.

"Promise?" he asked, running his finger over Snape's.

He didn't know who moved first, he only knew both of them let go of the glass, which fell to the floor with a thump, spilling Malfoy's expensive liquor everywhere and Harry really didn't care. Snape's lips were on his, soft but insistent, and Harry opened up readily, welcoming Snape's warm, wet tongue and its taste of smoke and liquor. Snape kissed fiercely and relentlessly and Harry gave as good as he got. He wanted more of Snape's tongue sliding against his own and savoured every jolt of arousal that resulted from their touch.

Snape's arm snaked around Harry's waist, pulling him in and Harry tried to get closer still, all but climbing onto Snape's lap.

When he pulled away to gasp for air, breathless, Snape took the opportunity to push the dress robes off Harry's shoulders and start on the buttons of his shirt. In return, Harry pulled on Snape's waistcoat until button after button came undone. Under his collar, the scar from Nagini's attack was revealed. Fascinated, Harry ran his fingers over the raised zigzag lines of tissue. It looked as dashing as Harry had imagined. Harry leaned closer and tentatively ran his tongue along the sensitive flesh, pulling back when Snape jerked. His low, groaned "Potter," was a sound of abandonment like Harry had never heard of him before. 

His hands slid up into Harry's hair, roughly pulling his head back, and he latched onto Harry's neck, biting, sucking, bruising, making Harry squirm with the intensity of it. Harry tried get closer to him, to get some friction, but it was no use, his jeans were far too stiff for that to happen. He gave a little whimper of frustration and fortunately, Snape seemed to know exactly what he needed. 

He fished his wand out of his pocket and made short work of Harry's jeans and pants, spelling them off to God knew where. Harry wanted to protest, anybody could come looking for them, but fuck, Snape's hand was on his cock, warm and just a little too tight, and everything was perfect. 

"God, yes," Harry sighed, then bit his lower lip, trying to stay quiet.

He felt arousal pulsing hotly inside him, building up fast, and it took all of four tugs and Snape's tongue in his mouth for Harry to come, shaking, all over their shirts. 

Snape unceremoniously wiped his hand on Malfoy's couch, then pulled Harry back in for another kiss, his hands sliding down to Harry's arse, dragging him closer and down, to rub over his lap. Harry, still dazed, but determined to reciprocate, reached down to open his dress trousers. 

In a moment of panic, he realised that in his Gryffindor bravery (or rather, rashness), he might have bitten off more than he could chew. He had never had another man's cock in his hand, not even in an adolescent fumble in the dormitory. And damn, it was Snape sitting in front of him with open trousers (his teacher, enemy, ally), with his hands still sticky with Harry's come. The thought was arousing, yet terrifying. 

Snape pushed Harry's clumsy fingers away, quickly opened his trousers, then sneaked his arm around Harry's waist again, pulling him closer, until Harry's naked arse slid over on his cock and whoa, that was a lot more than Harry could handle. He jerked back. 

"Wait, I don't… I mean, I've never…"

Sitting practically naked on his former teacher's lap after a hand job, Harry found the words still didn't come easily to him. Snape smirked at him, massaging circles into his thighs. 

"You've never what, Potter?"

Of course he would make him say it. 

"I've never fucked a man before," Harry said defiantly, determined not to blush. He hated that Snape made him feel like a blushing virgin, and probably on purpose, too.

"Nor will you," Snape replied, amused, "at the very most, you're going to _get_ fucked."

Baffled, Harry was at a loss for words. The cool, self-assured way Snape treated him was needling him, but deep inside, a little part of him was twitching in excitement. He couldn't say why, but he wanted more of that. 

"No worries that I'm too young and innocent for that?" he asked in deliberate insolence. Snape's fingers on his thighs tightened. 

"You're old enough to know what you want, Potter," he said dryly.

With a turn of his body and a twist of his arm, he had Harry on his back on the couch. In his surprise, Harry gave an undignified squeak. 

He watched Snape as he carefully took off his robe and waistcoat and laid them over the back of the couch. Rolling up his shirt sleeves and loosening his collar, he turned back to Harry. He watched him as if he were a particularly interesting potions ingredient, which would have been insulting if it hadn't been Snape.

He spread Harry's legs and slid between them, leaning over him and running his hands down Harry's thighs to his arse. And while yes, Harry had been fully on board for a tongue in his mouth and a hand on his cock, he was not sure he was quite ready for any action concerning his butt. Also, he had not _said_ he was okay with it.

"Hey, I didn't say you could-"

He was cut off by Snape's tongue in his mouth, taking time to explore, chasing away his thoughts of protest. 

"Do shut up, Potter," Snape murmured when he pulled back again.

"Someone will come looking for us, eventually," Harry answered, worried they'd be found like this.

Snape smiled, showing teeth. "So they will."

Harry turned his face to the side to avoid the next kiss. Damn it, Snape couldn't be that much of an exhibitionist. And Harry could do without giving Hermione the shock of her life.

"At least lock the door, please?" he asked, far more politely than he felt like, but he knew Snape was even less likely to respond to insults right now.

"I think I like it unlocked," Snape murmured, turning Harry's head up, licking and biting at his neck. 

"Fuck you, Snape," Harry cursed, then, annoyed with himself, stretched to give him better access. 

Snape's chuckle rumbled in Harry's own throat. With all his attention to Harry's sensitive spots, Harry felt himself harden again. A hand sneaked down to stroke down his thighs again, over his balls and to his arse. Jumping, Harry almost started to protest again, but Snape shushed him, kept stroking and started to circle his arsehole, his fingers sliding wetly against the sensitive skin. Tenderer than Harry had expected, they stroked and dipped the slightest bit inside, just teasing, and Harry thought he could get used to this, this wasn't as bad as he had feared. 

"Nnngh, slowly, please," he panted, "yes, like that, keep going."

Snape sighed. "I should have known you are a talker."

Harry liked his way of dealing with that just fine. Smiling against Snape's lips, he noticed one of his finger dipping deeper, sliding fully inside, stretching Harry without effort. There had to be some kind of spell involved, he was sure of that. After a few moments, another finger was added, then a third, far too fast, even with the help of the spell to lubricate and relax him. There was some discomfort then, a strange, aching feeling, and before Harry could react, Snape pulled his fingers back to line up his body with Harry's and pushed inside with one hard thrust. He silenced Harry's cry of pain with another quick kiss, then softly whispered sweet nothings into his ear as he started to rock.

"Good boy,...you're doing well, just a little more..."

Harry bit back the groans threatening to escape from his lips. The pain from the stretch and movement only slowly started to lessen and while Snape's whispering took his mind off it a little, the feeling was still overwhelming. Lying on his back with a cock sliding in and out of his arse felt as vulnerable and intense as it got. But along with this vulnerability came the blissful comfort of letting himself fall, letting some else take charge and take care of him for once.

Bit for bit, another sensation joined the pain, a spark of … something, when Snape rubbed against his insides. It built and grew as the pain lessened. 

A lick to Harry's neck, then Snape whispered, "Did you hear something outside?"

*

"Did you hear something outside? Footsteps?" Severus said, faking a worried expression, and savoured the look of concern twisting Potter's brow into a frown. He managed to keep his face straight for a few seconds before breaking into a grin.

"Bastard," Potter hissed, pretending he wasn't thrilled by the danger of getting caught, but the way his breath quickened and his nipples hardened told a different story. 

Severus sped up his thrusts. The slick, tight slide of his cock into the saviour of the wizarding world was so delightful, it took every ounce of willpower not come on the spot. Almost better even were the expressions flitting over his face, from the biting of his lips at a particularly sharp thrust, to the closed eyes and wet, open mouth of blissful relaxation when Severus angled his hips to meet all his good spots.

Potter was hard again in no time at all, and as Severus felt the pleasure get too intense, he grabbed Potter's hand and shoved it towards his cock. He wasn't going to do all the work. Potter took his cue and started to stroke, matching the pace of Severus thrusts. When his movements grew more erratic and he arched off the couch, mouth open and eyebrows rising to his hairline, Severus couldn't hold back any more and slammed hard into him, once, twice, then came inside him with a groan.

There was no room beside Potter, so Severus slumped back on the couch. For a few moments, both caught their breaths in silence. Then Potter sat up, wincing. His hair was sticking into all directions and he was deliciously flushed, with love bites peppered down his neck. Severus felt the ridiculous urge to take him back home and never let him out of the bedroom again. But this was Harry Potter, and whatever had inspired him to take part in this liaison, he would come to his senses soon enough. 

Severus wondered whether the sexual identity crisis or the awkward goodbye would come first. Thinking of the expression of bliss on Potter's face and the fact he was still full of Severus' come, he found he didn't care. It had been worth it.

Severus reached for his wand and cast a cleaning spell on himself, then, regretting he was erasing the traces of their activities, extended it to Potter, who jumped at the sudden tingle of magic on himself. 

"Thanks," he said, cautiously, as if Severus were the one who'd be likely to freak out over what they had done. 

"We could have gotten along much better earlier, if we had done this before," Potter joked weakly while Severus rolled down his sleeves and put on his waistcoat.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, we were just fucking, not getting along," Severus countered. _And just wait until you realise what you've done._

Potter kept quiet then, but his eyes followed Severus around the room while he retrieved Potter's pants and trousers and tossed them to him, then pulled on his robe.

When Severus was done, he hovered for a moment. Awkward goodbye it was, then. Severus was not a big fan of that, but it beat sexual identity crisis any day.

Potter was shrugging into his trousers, making faces when he moved his thighs. 

"Potter," he started, wondering what it was people said in this situation. The truth? _You're beautiful when you come. I want everybody to see the marks I left on you, so nobody will steal you away. Come home with me._ Laughable.

"I'll go first," he finally said, then, with a curt nod, left the room. Outside, he leaned against the door, thinking uncomfortable thoughts. They were finished, weren't they? Potter was an adult, he could be left alone. His first time with a man had been a damn sight more comfortable than Severus'. Then why did he feel like an arse, leaving already?

Severus needed another cigarette and possibly more to drink.

*

Harry felt sore, physically and emotionally. His body ached in a good way, reminding him of what had happened – just in case he freaked out and thought he had imagined everything, which was a distinct possibility, as soon as he had returned home. Up to this evening, Harry hadn't even been consciously aware that he might be open to anything else than a perfectly "normal" straight relationship, although in hindsight, he realised he had noticed at a very young age that Oliver Wood was fit. He had been more than impressed by Cedric Diggory. And yes, he might have been a little too obsessed with the Half-blood prince. Maybe he should have noticed his interest in men before.

Snape had gone already, which rankled a little. Harry trusted him with his life, so it hadn't seemed far-fetched to trust him to take care of Harry in this regard, either. He was still a mean bastard, but he hadn't disappointed. In the heat of the moment, Harry had even caught him looking fondly at him, a few times. He had hoped now at least they might be able to exchange a few civil words. A conversation with Harry didn't seem to be high on Snape's list of priorities, however. 

Harry cleaned up the couch and the rug in front of it as best as he could and returned the glasses to the storage. After another minute of fretting, he left the room and sneaked downstairs.

As he turned the corner, he ran into Blaise Zabini, who was clutching a glass of champagne in one hand, holding an ice pack to his cheek with the other and muttering to himself. His eyebrows rose when he saw Harry. 

"Well, I'll say, somebody's having a very nice evening," he commented, running his eyes over Harry's neck and grinning slyly. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Harry blushed. He was done with Slytherins and their pitiful excuse for conversation for the night.

"Shut up, Zabini," he said, without rancour. "My evening seems to be better than yours, at least."

Zabini shrugged, spilling a little of his drink.

"Sometimes Cupid's arrow strikes on the second hit."

Something had hit him all right, but it didn't seem to have been Cupid's arrow.

"Good luck with that," Harry wished him and hurried towards the bathroom, wondering since when he was on speaking terms with the Slytherins of his year. 

He locked the door behind him and turned towards the mirror, surprised at the sight. Mussed hair, flushed all over, hickeys from his ears down to the neckline of his robes – he did look as if he had had a great time. He hoped the press was already gone and Zabini wouldn't gossip about him.

After a few quick Episkeys and a moderately successful attempt to straighten his hair, Harry declared himself relatively safe and joined the party again. To his surprise, his absence had not been noted and nobody seemed to look at him strangely, even though he felt as if he had his latest actions tattooed across his forehead. Hermione and Ron appeared right after Harry. They didn't seem to notice something was different about him, preoccupied as they were with each other and the story of their conversation with Malfoy in the library. Apparently Malfoy had remembered the way to Hermione's heart was through books and had gifted her with a first edition of a book on Magical Theory.

He didn't see Snape any more until he left, which was fine, since he didn't know what to say to him anyway. 

Even though it was late, back home Harry was so restless he decided the time had come to tidy and deep-clean Grimmauld place. He picked up the trash that had accumulated over the last months, put his old school books and magazines into their rightful places in the library and sent his clothes to the closet or to the washing with a spell. Next, he ran some hot water and started to scrub the floors the Muggle way, as he had done at the Dursley's. He wanted to do it by hand, to get some of the agitation out of his system. 

But as he scrubbed, his mind went back to the events of the evening and he found that instead of getting calmer, he was getting even more upset.

He was thrown back into the emotional turmoil of the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts, wondering who the hell Severus Snape was. 

Harry knew he could trust him with his life – well, trust him with not letting anybody _else_ kill him, at least. They had fought on the same side of the war, were on the same page for the big things in life, in their values. And now they had shared something very intimate with each other and Snape had seemed to enjoy that. So what did that mean for the space in between? Why couldn't they get along when they weren't fighting for their lives or fucking? Why did Snape have to be so damn difficult?

Frustrated, Harry let the cloth fall into the bucket of water. There was no reason to clean, he wasn't going to have anyone over he wanted to impress.

He vanished the dirty water, then lay down on the couch.

"Guess who I met AGAIN," he texted Claire. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to tell her, but she was definitely opening his eyes with her opinion on tall, dark and mysterious.

*

In a way, Severus had known it would happen. There had been two possibilities: either the saviour would freak out over their little affair, hide from Severus and never speak of it again or he would seek out a confrontation with him, probably without plan or objective, as Gryffindors were wont to do. 

Three days after Draco's party, the tingle of his wards alerted Severus to possibility number two. Sighing, he put down the shrivelfig he was skinning and wondered what he should prepare himself for. A physical tussle? Scathing accusations? 

With a muttered spell he set the potions already brewing into stasis. A creaking of the floorboards in the hallway had him roll his eyes. It was a wonder the boy had survived so long on the run. 

"Do come in, Potter," he called out, "You hardly needed an invitation to enter the house."

Potter pushed the door to the work room open and slipped in, looking sheepish and sulking at the same time. 

Severus looked at him, eyebrow raised.

"You didn't owl," Potter said accusingly. 

"Nor did you," Severus answered reflexively. What had Potter been waiting for? A formal thank you note? 

_Dear Mr. Potter, I would like to thank you, most sincerely, for taking the time for a quick shag with me. The opportunity to stick my tongue down your throat was truly enjoyable. A repeat performance would be greatly appreciated, if you were so inclined. Sincerely, your former teacher._

Probably not. But it was interesting Potter had wanted to hear from him.

Potter looked to the side, biting his lip and clenching his fists. His voice was calm when he answered. 

"My owl didn't seem to find his way to you, last time."

It wouldn't have, after the little Confundus Severus had hit it with.

"You should get a better owl," Severus answered airily, took off his gloves and set them on a table. Potter's fists clenched and unclenched. 

"God, is everything going to be a fight?" he snapped, finally leaving all pretence of an even temper.

Severus shrugged. "In all likelihood, yes."

He approached Potter, who had deflated at his answer and was rubbing his forehead. 

"I thought so," Potter said, resigned, leaning back against the door. He didn't move when Severus approached him.

Severus stuck to the one way he had discovered to shut him up, at least intermittently. His hands found Potter's sides, their eyes met. Potter turned up his head and licked his lips. A long, slow kiss later, Potter was as docile as he got. Severus' hands ghosted along his crotch, wandering up to the buttons of Potter's jeans. But before he could open them and slip his hand inside, Potter stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't," he said, looking very much as if he didn't want Severus to stop on any account. "It's not that I don't… It's just... I wanted… more."

Severus didn't even consider refusing Potter for a second. He wouldn't have bet on the boy seeking him out for more sex, but, whatever his motives, Severus wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

"Come on, then," he said, "the bedroom is upstairs."

But Potter shook his head, still clutching Severus' arm. "No, that's not… I meant, the in-between."

He seemed to realise he was not making much sense. 

"Dinner," he said, furrowing his brow in what Severus feared was Gryffindor determination. "Let's have dinner together. First."

Oh. _More_. Severus hadn't had more in a long time, possibly not ever. He wasn't even sure he knew how to do _more_.

"Dinner," he repeated stupidly. "In public?"

Potter, to his credit, didn't ridicule his inane question, but nodded solemnly. "Dinner, in public."

For a short time, Severus pretended to contemplate the offer. But who was he kidding? He was head over heels in love with Potter and not only since yesterday.

"Alright, dinner," he heard himself say. "But in a Muggle venue of my choosing."

He wasn't going to be any less "difficult" for Potter's benefit. Severus was half-hoping that Potter would object and withdraw his invitation. But Potter nodded and smiled hopefully and Severus found himself scowling a little less.

He had the feeling that somewhere along the way, his plan to irritate Potter had failed. And damn if he wasn't grateful for the way it had turned out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3889775.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1819370.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1146800.html).


End file.
